In early February, the AZ Art Studio was busier than normal, swept up in the Valentine's season rush. Orders poured in without pause. đź’Ş
Anisa's desk was buried under paperwork, preliminary sketches, and custom design requests. While she clicked through design proofs on her screen, her phone rang incessantly.
"Is Order #145, the custom frame, ready?" a designer called out. The team buzzed around each other, urging, "We need to rush. Client deadlines are tight!" đź“ž
Yugh arrived, quickly assessed the flurry, and took charge. "Let's split tasks. I'll handle logistics and client coordination. Anisa, you focus on finalizing the designs."
The studio became a hive of coordinated chaos;the hum of arts, the smell of drying canvas, paintbrushes moving non-stop. The team's voices overlapped in a chorus of "Next order, next order…" as they pushed forward, not letting the mounting workload slow them down. 🌬
Anisa's hands became smudged with paint, her eyes laser-focused on her screen, her heart beating in time with the frantic pace.
At his desk, Yugh managed replacements, deliveries, and client calls with steady efficiency. Occasionally, his gaze would drift to Anisa, and for a fleeting moment, he would offer a small, almost imperceptible smile. đź¤
With the Valentine's season in full swing, the AZ Art Studio found itself in a long, hectic, fast-moving period,a time that was both demanding and strangely, vibrantly alive. đź’ť